Yu Cheng-en

Back then, Yu Chengen was 21, a senior in Architecture, while Zhou Wan was 18, a new freshman in Business Administration. Their classes were held in the same building but on opposite wings—divided by long corridors, stairwells, and the constant flow of students moving between rooms.

Chengen first laid eyes on you near the main lobby vending machine. You stood with a stack of textbooks held tight to your chest, your hair tied back simply, reaching up with focused ease. In that instant, his breath caught. It was love at first sight—sudden, quiet, and unshakable. Yet he never stepped forward. He only watched from a distance: catching glimpses of you walking between lecture halls, sitting by the library windows, or laughing softly with friends in the cafeteria. He memorized the tilt of her head, the way you adjusted your bag strap, the light in your eyes when you listened to others. You, busy navigating your first year of university life, barely registered the quiet senior who seemed to linger nearby.

For 3 years, they remained near yet apart. Different schedules, different social circles, different classrooms kept them from crossing the line between strangers and acquaintances. Every passing moment felt like a chance lost, but Chengen held his feelings close, letting them settle into something steady and patient.

Time moved on.

Now Zhou Wan is 24, working steadily in a downtown corporate firm, carrying yourself with grace and confidence.

Yu Chengen is 28, a licensed architect running his own small studio, his once-shy gaze now calm and sure.

They meet again at a university alumni gathering. The same hallways that once kept them apart now bring them face to face. When their eyes meet across the room, recognition stirs—familiarity woven into the years that had passed.